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The Mage's Path Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2024-08-02 06:41:49 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the next chapter. This is another long chapter, with a 6000 word count. The Diagon Alley visit was longer than I Imagined, and I didn’t want it to take up the entire chapter.
Chapter 8
The pre-dawn light cast a grey pall over Privet Drive as Harry crept into the backyard, shovel in hand. His Mana Sense prickled with awareness. Something magical lay buried beneath the perfectly manicured lawn, its energy signature faint but unmistakable. Since the skill worked within a limited range, it was only last night that he discovered the anomaly. To avoid the Dursleys' ire, he snuck out early to investigate.
As he surveyed the yard, Harry became aware of another magical presence—a gossamer-thin barrier that seemed to envelop the entire property. It was so faint he almost missed it, like trying to see a spider's web in dim light. The barrier's energy signature felt similar to the buried object, piquing Harry's curiosity further.
"What are we doing out here at this ungodly hour?" Celeste grumbled from his shoulder.
"There's something magical buried here," Harry murmured, his eyes scanning the ground. "I can feel it, and I think it's connected to that barrier I sensed."
He closed his eyes, focusing on his Mana Sense. The magical signature pulsed stronger to his left, close to Aunt Petunia's prized rose bushes. Harry grimaced. She'd have his hide if he damaged her flowers, but his curiosity won out.
With practised efficiency born from years of Dursley-mandated gardening, Harry started digging. The shovel bit into the earth, and he worked quickly, mindful of the approaching dawn and the risk of being caught.
"I hope this isn't a wild goose chase," Celeste murmured, pleased that she could use her new favourite idiom.
She had learned the phrase from sneaking into the living room to watch the television over Dudley's shoulder. Everything about his world fascinated her, and she absorbed information like a sponge.
Harry's shovel struck something solid. He dropped to his knees, brushing away soil to reveal a small stone covered in intricate symbols. As his fingers touched its surface, he felt a surge of magical energy.
"Definitely not a goose," he said, lifting the stone from its earthy bed.
Harry pulled an appraisal scroll from his pocket, one of the few he had left from the dungeon. He unrolled it, placing the stone on top of the parchment. Immediately, text appeared.
======
Blood Ward Anchor Stone | Level: -- | Rare | Effect: Concealment
Description: A powerful focal point for blood-based protective magic. It serves to anchor wards that cloak the presence of the targeted individual, drawing upon the blood of a close family member. However, the strength of the wards wanes over time, with an estimated efficacy of only 3 to 4 years before its protective qualities diminish significantly.
* Current effect: Conceals Harry Potter's presence within the Surrey region from magical detection.
======
Harry's breath caught in his throat. “A close family member? The only person that I’m related to is my aunt. How the heck am I close to her?”
Celeste fluttered onto his shoulder, her tiny face serious. "I haven’t heard about blood-based magic before, but magic is all about intent. I question how effective this ward is if it's based on how close you are to your aunt."
Harry nodded. “Could it be why I was placed here? Because they needed my aunt to fuel the magic? I would rather have taken my chances by living elsewhere. An orphanage would seem like paradise in comparison.”
“It depends on who was out to get you,” Celeste said. “Maybe it was one of Voldemort’s supporters? Or was it someone related to Uriel? What if they found you when you were younger? You would have been helpless.”
“But like you said, this thing may be completely useless,” Harry murmured, weighing the stone in his hand. “Should I put the stone back in the hole?”
“For the moment,” Celeste said. "Until we know more about it and who placed it there, we should proceed with caution.”
Harry placed the stone back, filled in the hole and smoothed over the dirt. Questions raced through his mind. Who had placed it here? Why did they use this method? Wasn’t there a better way of going about protecting him? Did they know the hell they subjected him to by placing him with the Dursleys?
Brushing dirt from his knees, Harry headed back inside to take a shower and prepare some breakfast. Professor McGonagall would arrive later to take him to Diagon Alley, and he could hardly wait.
Also, it had completely slipped his mind to ask how he ended up living with the Dursleys, so he would ask her when he got the chance.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry stood on the doorstep at nine a.m., waiting for the professor to arrive. Celeste nestled in his shirt pocket, her tiny body vibrating with barely contained excitement. A faint 'pop' shattered the suburban quiet, heralding Professor McGonagall's arrival. She strode up the path, wearing the same austere suit she'd donned yesterday to blend in with the Muggle surroundings.
"Good morning, Mr Potter," she said crisply. "I trust you're ready for your introduction to the wizarding world."
Harry nodded, his face a mask of calm despite the anticipation coiling in his stomach. "Yes, Professor."
As McGonagall turned to lead the way, Harry's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Scan," he thought, focusing on the professor's back.
Target's Willpower is too high. Scan resisted.
He wasn't surprised that he couldn't scan her, but curiosity nibbled at the edges of his mind. With her being over level one hundred, her Willpower likely dwarfed his Perception, explaining his inability to glean any information about her. It was a stark reminder of how far he still had to go to reach her level.
They reached the curb, the concrete still damp from an early morning mist. McGonagall extended her wand arm, the polished wood gleaming in the sunlight. With a deafening bang that set nearby car alarms blaring, a violently purple triple-decker bus materialised before them, seeming to squeeze itself into existence between two parked cars.
"The Knight Bus," McGonagall explained, her lips thinning in obvious distaste. "A somewhat... unconventional mode of magical transport. I thought I'd demonstrate this method in case you need to get somewhere and don't have anyone around to help you."
Harry's eyebrows raised a fraction as they boarded. The interior was a chaotic mess of mismatched chairs, from overstuffed armchairs to spindly wooden stools, all seemingly unanchored to the floor. Brass chandeliers swung wildly from the ceiling, their crystals tinkling with a discordant melody.
The bus lurched into motion with another ear-splitting bang, and Harry gripped his seat, his knuckles whitening slightly. The world outside the windows seemed to blur and stretch, houses and trees jumping out of their way as they careened down the street. McGonagall, he noticed, seemed to be fighting the urge to close her eyes, her usually stern face a shade paler than normal.
"This is fun," Harry said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth once he'd adjusted to the bus's momentum.
Celeste poked her head out of his pocket, her tiny face a mix of exhilaration and nausea. "Speak for yourself," she grumbled, her wings fluttering nervously. "I think I'm going to be sick.”
The journey was mercifully short for Celeste’s delicate constitution. They disembarked on Charing Cross Road, a busy London street in stark contrast to the quiet of Privet Drive. McGonagall's usually immaculate bun was slightly askew, with a few strands of hair escaping their pins. Before them stood a dingy pub, with its dark windows and peeling paint, a discordant note between a gleaming bookshop and a trendy record store.
"The Leaky Cauldron," McGonagall announced, gesturing to the shabby establishment. "The gateway to Diagon Alley."
As they entered, the din of conversation washed over them. The interior was dim, and Harry squinted as his eyes adjusted. Witches and wizards dressed in a variety of robes and pointed hats conversed animatedly at their tables. In one corner, a tiny man in a top hat appeared to be having an intense conversation with a gnarled walking stick that occasionally tapped the floor of its own accord.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the room. All eyes turned to Harry, and he felt the weight of their stares like a physical thing. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and expectant.
"Bless my soul," the barman whispered, his voice carrying in the sudden silence. "It's Harry Potter!"
The quiet shattered like glass. Patrons surged forward, hands outstretched, voices clamouring over one another in a cacophony of excitement.
"Welcome back, Mr Potter!"
"Can't believe it's really him!"
"Can I shake your hand, Harry?"
Harry stepped back, his face a carefully constructed mask of calm, even as discomfort flickered in his green eyes. The crowd pressed closer, their excitement palpable in the air. He felt exposed, raw, like a specimen under a microscope.
Harry's jaw clenched imperceptibly, and he opened his mouth to tell them to back off, but before he could speak, McGonagall intervened.
"That's quite enough!" Her voice cut through the din like a whip crack, causing several patrons to flinch. "Mr Potter is here on Hogwarts business. I'll thank you all for returning your drinks and let us pass."
The crowd reluctantly parted, murmuring apologies and casting longing glances at Harry as McGonagall ushered him through the pub. As they moved, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of expectations he didn't understand weighing on his shoulders.
They emerged into a small, walled courtyard. With a few quick taps of her wand on the bricks, they shifted and rearranged, scraping against one another as they moved aside to reveal an archway.
Harry's eyes widened a fraction, the only outward sign of his amazement as Diagon Alley stretched before him. The narrow, cobblestone street twisted out of sight, lined with the most fascinating array of shops he'd ever seen. Cauldrons of every size and material gleamed in the sun outside one store, their surfaces reflecting distorted images of passing witches and wizards. Everywhere he looked, witches and wizards and witches, dressed in robes and normal clothes, bustled about their business.
And above every head, names and levels floated like ghostly signposts, a secret only Harry could see. Their levels ranged from single digits up to eighty, with the younger kids making up the former. None of them were as impressive as Professor McGonagall, but it was only a small sample size. All the floating text was incredibly distracting, so he tried not to look too close at anyone for too long.
Celeste squirmed out of his pocket and settled on his shoulder, her tiny eyes wide with wonder. "So, this is the magical world!" she whispered, her earlier nausea forgotten in the face of such marvels.
Harry nodded, allowing a small smile to break through his composed facade. "It certainly lives up to its name. I can't recognise half of this stuff."
"Come along, Mr Potter," McGonagall urged, striding purposefully down the alley. "We have a great deal to accomplish today."
Harry matched her pace, his eyes darting from shop to shop, taking in every detail. "Where are we going first, Professor?" he asked.
"Gringotts," she replied, gesturing to an imposing, snow-white building that towered over the neighbouring shops. "The wizard bank. You'll need to withdraw some funds for your school supplies."
Harry's steps faltered imperceptibly, his mind racing. "Funds? You mean... I have money here?" The concept seemed alien after years of hand-me-downs and scraps from the Dursleys.
McGonagall's brow furrowed, a hint of concern crossing her features. "Of course. Did you think your parents left you with nothing?"
"I... I see," Harry said quietly, his tone neutral even as questions bubbled up inside him. How much money did he have? Had his parents left him anything else? The weight of his ignorance about his past pressed down on him. He had so much to learn.
"You can discuss the details with the Potter family account manager," McGonagall added briskly, sensing his unasked questions. "For now, we must focus on acquiring your school supplies."
As they climbed the white stone steps leading to Gringotts, Harry noticed two armoured goblins flanking the burnished bronze doors. Their faces were sharp and they held wicked-looking spears at the ready.
"Blimey," Celeste whispered, loud enough for only Harry to hear, "those are some ugly little buggers."
"Celeste," Harry murmured warningly, fighting back a smirk. "Try not to upset the locals. Who knows how they'll react." He sobered quickly, eyeing the spears. "Besides, they look like they could be dangerous if provoked."
If the goblins heard the fairy's comment, they gave no sign. Their beady eyes remained fixed ahead, unblinking and alert.
They stepped through the doors into a vast marble hall bustling with activity. The floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the crystal chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Dozens of goblins scurried about, some weighing coins on brass scales, others examining precious stones through eyeglasses that made their eyes bulge comically. Long counters stretched along the hall, behind which even more goblins sat on high stools, scratching in ledgers with long quills or counting piles of gems. Witches and wizards of all ages queued before these counters, conducting their business with the surly-looking tellers.
McGonagall led Harry to an available goblin, whose nameplate identified him as Gornuk. "Mr Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal," she announced.
Gornuk peered down at Harry, his long fingers steepled on the counter. "And does Mr Harry Potter have his key?"
Harry's brow furrowed slightly, but before he could respond, McGonagall smoothly produced a tiny golden key from within her robes. "I have it here," she said, placing it on the counter.
Gornuk examined the key closely. After a moment, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Very well. Griphook will take you down to the vault."
McGonagall took the key and handed it to Harry. "The headmaster has taken care of it for you. Now it's your responsibility. Do not give it out to anyone. At least not anyone you don’t completely trust."
Harry's eyes narrowed as he pocketed the key. "Why would the headmaster have my key?"
"The headmaster is your magical guardian, Mr Potter,” McGonagall explained. “As such, he's been entrusted with certain responsibilities regarding your magical affairs."
Before Harry could press further, Griphook appeared, his beady eyes glinting impatiently. "If you'll follow me," he said, his gravelly voice brooking no argument.
They followed the goblin through a door, emerging into a narrow stone passageway lit by flaming torches. A small cart stood waiting on rails that disappeared into darkness. As they clambered in, Harry felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with trepidation.
With a lurch that nearly dislodged Harry's glasses, they were off, hurtling through a maze of twisting passages. Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open, enjoying the experience.
They stopped beside a small door in the passage wall. Griphook unlocked it, and green smoke billowed out. As it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside was a mound of gold coins, columns of silver, and heaps of little bronze pieces.
"This is just your trust vault, Mr Potter," McGonagall explained as Harry pulled out his pouch and began shovelling coins inside. "The gold ones are Galleons, the silver are Sickles, and the bronze are Knuts. Seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle."
“How much is a galleon to a pound?” Harry asked.
“Approximately five pounds,” McGonagall replied.
Harry's eyes widened at the mountain of glittering coins. Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts cascaded in a golden waterfall, more wealth than he'd ever dreamed of possessing.
McGonagall's voice cut through his daze. "This should suffice for your school supplies and then some."
As the vault door groaned shut, Harry's mind raced. "Professor, did my parents leave... anything else?"
The witch's expression softened. "Your family has a main vault," she said, her Scottish brogue thickening. "But that's a matter for your account manager. Most old families have... stipulations for heirs to access it. Though James never cared much for tradition, and you being the last Potter..."
Her words trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake.
Harry sighed. He needed access to his family vault. He wanted to learn more about his parents, especially his mother since there was so much mystery surrounding her confrontation with Uriel.
Back in the marble hall, Harry turned to Griphook. "I'd like to meet with my account manager, please."
Griphook nodded. "Ragnok manages the Potter accounts. I'll pass on the request to him and he should arrange an appointment to see you."
Harry thanked him and they headed back outside. Professor McGonagall told him that they would get his wand next.
"Professor, about my question earlier. The Headmaster acts as my magical guardian... What exactly does that mean?"
McGonagall's lips thinned slightly, her pace slowing. "It's a complex matter, Mr Potter. In the magical world, orphaned children are assigned a guardian to oversee their magical education and well-being. This person makes decisions about the child's magical upbringing, manages any inheritances until they come of age, and acts as a liaison between the child and magical authorities. Given your... unique circumstances, Headmaster Dumbledore took on this role."
Harry frowned, processing this information. "But why him specifically? And why wasn't I told about any of this before?"
"Dumbledore is a great wizard, Mr Potter, and highly respected in our world. He believed it was in your best interest to grow up away from the wizarding world, given your fame."
Harry's fists clenched at his sides, his voice low and tight with suppressed anger. "If he wanted to decide my life, maybe he should've done a better job. He could've put me in a better home, or at least checked on me once in a while."
Professor McGonagall's expression softened, a flicker of concern crossing her features. "I understand your frustration, Mr. Potter. But I believe you need to speak with the headmaster directly. He can explain his reasoning better than I can."
Harry nodded, though his mind was far from settled. His thoughts drifted to the wardstone he'd discovered in the backyard. Was it Dumbledore who had placed it there? And if so, wouldn't it have required Aunt Petunia's blood to activate? Did she know about it? Why would she agree to take him in if she hated him so much?
The questions swirled in his mind, but he held his tongue. How could he ask about the ward stone without revealing how he'd found it? For now, he'd have to wait to speak with the headmaster himself.
"I don't trust this Dumbledore," Celeste whispered. "He seems to have too much control over your life."
Harry's jaw tightened, a familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside him. After years under the Dursleys' thumb, the idea of another authority figure controlling his fate made his skin crawl. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
"You're right," he murmured back to Celeste. "But we need more information before we can do anything. For now, let's focus on getting my school supplies. We'll deal with Dumbledore when the time comes."
The bell above Ollivander's door chimed as Harry stepped inside, dust motes dancing in the pale sunlight. Shelves upon shelves of narrow boxes stretched into shadowy recesses, the air thick with the scent of polish and old wood.
"I'll fetch your other supplies, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said. "Wand selection can be... time-consuming." After saying that, she exited the shop.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
Harry's heart leapt into his throat. He spun around, coming face-to-face with an old man whose wispy white hair seemed to float around his head like a halo. Ollivander's eyes bored into him, seeming to peer beyond flesh and bone.
"Your mother's wand—willow, excellent for charm work. Your father favoured mahogany, a fine wand for transfiguration." Ollivander's spindly fingers plucked a box from the nearest shelf, the wood creaking softly beneath his touch. "Let's begin, shall we?"
What followed was an exercise in mounting frustration. Wand after wand passed through Harry's grasp—holly and phoenix feather, elm and dragon heartstring, cherry and unicorn hair. Some lay inert in his palm, cold and lifeless. Others sparked weakly, a pitiful imitation of magic. One particularly temperamental specimen sent a cascade of boxes tumbling from their perch, filling the shop with a thunderous clatter.
"Curious," Ollivander muttered, his excitement growing with each failure. His eyes gleamed with an almost feverish light. "Very curious indeed."
For nearly half an hour, the wandmaker's fervour never dimmed. Harry's spirits, however, sank lower with each rejected wand. A knot of dread formed in his stomach. What if he wasn't meant to have a wand at all?
Ollivander scrutinised yet another failed wand, turning it over in his hands. Suddenly, his misty eyes fixed on Harry's shoulder, widening in wonder. "My word," he breathed, leaning in so close that Harry could see every wrinkle on his weathered face. "Is that... a fairy?"
Harry's muscles tensed. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten about Celeste, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the ordeal. She peeked out from behind his collar, her violet eyes narrowing at the wandmaker.
"Extraordinary," Ollivander murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never seen one quite like her. Tell me, little one, would you perhaps be willing to donate a wing for young Mr. Potter's wand? Fairy wing cores are exceedingly rare, and with your unique nature—"
Celeste's outraged shriek pierced the dusty air like a knife, causing both Harry and Ollivander to wince. "Donate a wing?!" she sputtered, zipping up to hover inches from Ollivander's nose. Her tiny face flushed purple with indignation. "Listen here, you glorified stick peddler! I'll have you know I'm an Umbra Fairy, the most powerful magical being you'll ever encounter. I don't donate parts of myself for your tree branch waving!"
She crossed her arms, glaring daggers at the wandmaker. Harry bit his lip, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. He'd never seen Celeste quite this worked up before.
Celeste wasn't finished. She flew in a quick circle around Ollivander's head, her wings a blur of motion. With each rotation, she jabbed a tiny finger at him. "And another thing! If you ever need wing donations, I suggest you start with those stuffy old barn owls. Merlin knows they could stand to lose a few feathers."
With that, she zipped back to Harry's shoulder. Ollivander stood rooted to the spot, his mouth agape, looking for all the world like he'd been struck by lightning.
"I... I do apologise," the wandmaker stammered, straightening his robes with trembling hands. "I meant no offence."
Harry cleared his throat, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sorry about that, Mr. Ollivander. Celeste is, er, rather protective of her wings."
"Quite," Ollivander said faintly, still looking rather shell-shocked. "Well, then, shall we try another wand?"
After another half-dozen unsuccessful attempts, Ollivander lowered the latest rejection. His brow furrowed in thought, creating deep valleys in his aged skin. "Mr. Potter, in all my years... Well, there is another possibility. May I take your hand?"
Harry hesitated, then extended his arm. Ollivander's grip was surprisingly strong, his skin papery against Harry's own. For a long moment, silence reigned. Then Ollivander's eyes flew open, wide with astonishment.
"Mr Potter, your magic is... unique. I don't think I could even craft a wand suited for you."
Harry's heart sank. Was this because of his wandless magic? He'd hoped to keep that ability secret—to use a wand like everyone else. But what if he couldn't find one that worked for him?
Ollivander disappeared into the depths of the shop, the sound of rummaging echoing in the cramped space. He returned, clutching a weathered business card. "Eloise Beaumont, a wandmaker in Paris. Her methods are... unconventional, but for unique cases..." He pressed the card into Harry's hand. "She may be able to craft something suited to your particular magic."
"Thank you, sir."
"Ah, but we can't send you out empty-handed," Ollivander said, producing a sleek leather holster. "To avoid awkward questions."
Harry slipped the holster onto his forearm, marvelling at how it seemed to vanish against his skin. After paying, he stepped out into the bustling alley.
Professor McGonagall stood waiting, her arms laden with parcels. But it was the owl in the cage that captured Harry's attention. Its amber eyes met his, radiating intelligence and curiosity.
"Happy early birthday, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, a rare smile softening her stern features. “She’s a female Snowy Owl. The store owner told me she is an exceptionally smart owl.
Harry's throat tightened. "She's beautiful," he breathed, reaching out to stroke the owl's soft feathers. "Thank you, Professor."
It was the first real birthday present he could remember receiving.
"I thought she might be useful for communicating in the magical world," McGonagall explained. "Now, your wand?"
Harry's fingers brushed the hidden holster. "All sorted, Professor," he lied, plastering on a smile.
"I've managed to purchase most of your supplies," McGonagall said, nodding towards the packages. "Let's get your robes sorted quickly. I need to return to Hogwarts. If you require anything else, you can return here on your own. Just don't let anyone know you're here alone. I recommend using a disguise."
Harry nodded. He planned to explore the alley more thoroughly when he met his bank manager. Somehow, he would find a way to get to France. Maybe he could work on unlocking the Gamer ability there, which could open up some interesting opportunities during his visit.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry shouldered his way through the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive, Hedwig's cage clutched in one white-knuckled hand, his new school trunk scraping noisily behind him. The moment he crossed the threshold, Aunt Petunia's shrill voice sliced through the air like a knife.
"What in heaven's name is that... that creature?" Petunia shrieked, her bony finger jabbing towards Hedwig. The snowy owl ruffled her feathers indignantly, her amber eyes narrowing at the hysterical woman.
Harry didn't break stride. "She's an owl, Aunt Petunia.”
"I won't have it!" Petunia's face contorted, a vein pulsing in her forehead. "No freakish birds in my house! What will the neighbours think?"
Harry paused at the foot of the stairs, turning to meet his aunt's gaze. His green eyes, usually warm, now held a steely glint that made Petunia take an involuntary step back.
"She stays," he said, his voice low and firm. "I need a way to communicate with my new magical acquaintances. Unless, of course, you'd prefer them to visit in person?"
The colour drained from Petunia's face, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Harry allowed himself a small, satisfied smile as he continued up the stairs.
Once in his room, Harry gently set her cage on the desk. He began unpacking his trunk: the black robes, a copper cauldron, potion ingredients, and stacks of leather-bound books. Each object served as a tangible reminder that this wasn't some elaborate dream. Magic was real, and he was now irrevocably part of that world.
His fingers brushed the spine of "Magical Theory." It was the same book he found in the dungeon.
Harry picked up "A History of Magic," flipping through its pages in search of a suitable name for his owl. He suggested several to the snowy bird, and each met with a disdainful hoot.
"Archimedes?" A soft hoot of disapproval.
"Athena?" A sharper hoot, almost scornful.
"Hedwig?" The owl perked up, giving a soft, approving hoot.
"Hedwig it is, then," Harry said, reaching through the cage bars to stroke her feathers.
Setting the book aside, Harry's expression grew serious. "Right," he muttered, "time to get to work."
He knew that exploring dungeons and battling monsters would never be easy. If he could boost his attributes and grow stronger while maintaining his current level, it would give him a significant advantage.
Harry settled on the bed and called up his skill menu. The Bookworm skill he'd acquired in the dungeon would be crucial for his training:
======Bookworm | Passive | Level 1 | Upgrade: 12/100 | Attribute: INT
Description: The Bookworm skill enhances the player's capacity to absorb, comprehend, and retain knowledge from books and written materials. This skill also accelerates the acquisition of skills through reading relevant texts and practising their methods.
* Increases reading speed by 20%.
* Improves information retention by 20%.
* Gives a 25% boost to acquiring skills when reading relevant material.
* INT > 30: Improves the player's ability to filter out unnecessary information.
* Upgrade to level 2 by reading 100 books. ======
A grin spread across Harry's face. With this skill, he could devour his textbooks in no time. More importantly, it would accelerate his ability to learn new skills, a process he knew would only become more challenging with time.
"Are we heading out again?" Celeste asked, her tiny form zipping over to read the screen over his shoulder.
"That's right," Harry replied. "I want to hit the library and grab some books on physical exercise. It should help me learn related skills and improve my ability to train my attributes. That's the hope, anyway."
Celeste's wings buzzed with excitement. "If you learn a Primer related to it, that would be even better!"
"My thoughts exactly."
He moved to Hedwig's cage, unlatching the door. The owl hopped onto his outstretched arm, her talons gripping gently. "I'm not going to keep you cooped up in here," he told her, carrying her to the open window. "Stretch your wings, hunt if you'd like. Just be back by tonight, alright?"
Hedwig nipped his ear affectionately before launching herself into the sky.
Harry slipped out of his room, eager to get started on improving himself.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The weight of the Gringotts pouch felt reassuring against his hip. It occurred to him that maybe he should have converted some galleons to pounds, but he should have more than enough to meet his needs. His share of the money earned from the dungeon was 400 pounds, and he had only spent a fraction of it thus far.
The Greater Whinging Public Library loomed before him, its modern glass facade a stark contrast to the surrounding brick buildings. As he approached, the automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, enveloping him in a rush of cool, book-scented air.
Harry paused just inside, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched out before him, a veritable maze of knowledge. H
He moved through the sections with purpose, his fingers trailing along spines until he found what he was looking for. "The Complete Guide to Running" was first, followed quickly by "Strength Training Fundamentals." He added "Flexibility and Balance for Beginners" to his growing pile, then "Martial Arts: An Introduction."
As he reached for "Swimming: Techniques and Training," a twinge of guilt made him hesitate. He wasn't actually checking these out.
"We'll bring them back," Celeste whispered, her tiny voice barely audible. "Once we've learned everything."
Harry nodded, slipping the book into his inventory. He glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed anything amiss.
With his literary haul secured, Harry exited the library. His next destination was clear in his mind: Whinging High Street, where a popular clothing store was located.
The store's air conditioning hit him like a wave as he entered, a welcome relief from the summer heat. Pop music played softly overhead as he navigated through the racks of clothing. The sheer variety was overwhelming—he'd never had the luxury of choosing his own clothes before.
"Ooh, how about this?" Celeste whispered, poking her head out to point at a sleek black polo shirt.
Harry nodded, adding it to his basket. He selected a pair of well-fitting jeans, revelling in the feeling of denim that didn't sag around his knees. Several t-shirts in various colours joined the pile, along with a stylish grey hoodie that made him feel instantly cooler. He made sure to get some tracksuits and shorts as well, which would be more comfortable for physical exercise.
In the shoe section, he tried on several pairs before settling on a set of Nike running trainers. The supportive cushioning felt like walking on clouds compared to Dudley's cast-offs.
With purchases made and safely stowed in his inventory, Harry made his way to Whinging Memorial Park. He found a secluded spot beneath an old oak tree, its gnarled branches providing ample shade.
Settling onto the cool grass, Harry retrieved "The Complete Guide to Running" from his inventory. He flipped through the pages, absorbing information on proper form, breathing techniques, and training schedules.
The book wasn’t that long, so by the early afternoon, he had read the entire thing. He started practising the warm-up routine from the book. He touched his toes, feeling the stretch in his hamstrings, then rotated his arms in wide circles.
"Ready for this?" he asked Celeste, who had emerged from his pocket to perch on a nearby branch.
The fairy crossed her arms, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Try not to trip over your own feet, Potter."
With a mock salute to his diminutive companion, Harry set off on a steady jog. His new Nike trainers felt amazing—supportive and springy, nothing like the worn-out hand-me-downs he was used to. The cushioned soles absorbed the impact as he ran, making each step feel effortless.
He focused on his breathing, just as the book had instructed. In through the nose, out through the mouth. His legs pumped steadily, eating up the ground as he circled the park. The evening air was cool against his face, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers.
By the third lap, a light sheen of sweat covered Harry's brow. His lungs burned pleasantly, and he could feel his muscles working in a way they never had before.
The player’s Agility has increased by 1.
A minute later.
The player’s Endurance has increased by 1.
He continued running until his stamina was beginning to run low. He was about to sit down to rest when a notification appeared in his HUD, and he stopped to read it.
======Congratulations!
You learned a new skill by repeatedly performing a specific action!
Running | Active | Level 1 | Upgrade: 0/30 | Cost: 20 SP per/ min | Attribute: AGI/END
Description: Improves the player's speed, endurance, and overall cardiovascular fitness through sustained aerobic activity. This skill enhances oxygen utilisation, strengthens the heart and lungs, and optimises muscle efficiency during prolonged physical exertion. As the skill level increases, the player experiences improved stamina and the ability to maintain higher speeds over longer distances.
Increases running speed by 10%.
Reduces stamina cost during running by 10%.
AGI > 25: Unlocks "Sprint" ability for short bursts of extreme speed without any Endurance cost.
Unlock level 2 by running 30 kilometres. ======
Harry grinned. The Running skill was a welcome addition to his arsenal.
His gaze flicked to his Stamina bar, now depleted from his run. The slow crawl of regeneration frustrated him. Unlike in the dungeon, where he could simply sleep to restore his resources instantly, the real world posed more of a challenge. He couldn't afford to waste hours waiting for natural recovery, not when there was so much to learn and so little time before Hogwarts.
A thought struck him, causing him to straighten up. "What about food?" he mused aloud, drawing a curious look from Celeste. "In games, food often restores health or stamina. Maybe..."
His eyes lit up with inspiration. "Cooking," he declared, snapping his fingers. "If I could learn the skill, I might be able to create dishes that restore Stamina more efficiently. It shouldn’t be hard, since I have so much practice at it."
The idea held promise. It would potentially solve all of his recovery issues, even though he needed to keep his Consumption resource in mind.
"Celeste," he said, "how do you feel about a trip to the grocery store? I think it's time we expanded our skill set into the culinary arts."
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry continues training and finds a clue as to the location of his next dungeon.
Thanks for reading.
Comments
Crystal
Haven't read the chapter yet but you had me at '6,000 word count'. 😆🤤
